My friend has a piece of art displayed in her home with the words “he rescued me because he delights in me” written on it. It is portion of Psalm 18:19. It hangs in her kitchen and every time I’ve seen it the phrase lingers in my heart for a few days after. I now live in a different state than my friend and it’s been almost a year since I’ve been in her home. Yet, just recently I thought of that piece of art and the truth in those words. So I decided to lean in and discover the original story behind that passage of scripture.

“He led me to a place of safety, he rescued me because he delights in me” Psalm 18:19. Turns out these words were penned by David and written to God. The backdrop of the story is that David has been running for his life, fighting to stay alive. He has literally been hiding in caves to find refuge from the enemies that have been relentlessly pursuing Him. David has been a hunted man for a long time, for 8 years. He has been depending on God to deliver him, and on the day David writes these words, deliverance has come.

David’d enemies are defeated. Saul is defeated. The battle is finally over. And now, David can enter into that open space, the place of safety that has been made just for him. David speaks with assurance and confidence about the nature of God. There is an invitation for us to know God like David did. We too, can look to God in adversity, in the midst of the small closed off space that feels dark and hopeless, and know that it is not the end. Our God will not only deliver us, but also invites us to live into the open spaces. God does not leave his work half done. He is the God who rescues.

This a contributor post that I wrote for the Portland Mom's Blog. Read the entire article HERE.

Dear Children,

This morning I think of you as I look about the kitchen. You are not here now, but there is evidence of you all around. Today there are more colorful additions to the normal food droppings that lie scattered on the floor. Construction paper hearts and colored pencil shavings accent the scrambled eggs. You’ve all been working diligently to create an outward expression of the love that you hold in your heart. Although you each have a limited number of valentines to disperse to your classmates on this one designated day in February, I am struck with how lucky I am to receive the gift of your love and affection every single day of the year.

Because, here’s the thing. I mess up a lot. I yell and lose my temper. I get distracted and don’t listen to the things you ask me. And, I’m often forgetful and misplace many of your treasured things. But, you forgive me. Every time....

This was a guest post from the True & Noble blog. You can read the entire article HERE.

This past September, our family moved into our new rental house in Hood River, Oregon. In the chaos of unpacking one afternoon, I heard my husband call, “Hey Cons, what should our new wifi password be?”

Grateful for an excuse to take a break, I abandoned the box in front of me and headed for the couch, where husband had been sitting with his laptop, setting up all new utility accounts for the house. Settling into a spot beside him, I considered his question. It would have been easy and obvious for him simply to reuse all the login information we had used for the previous twelve years at our house in California. Yet he obviously felt – and I agreed with him – that this new chapter in our life was an opportunity to rethink all our “default settings” in life.

...continue to read the rest of the article on the True & Noble Medium page.

This a contributor post that I wrote for the Portland Mom's Blog. Read the entire article HERE.

Six years ago my husband and I purchased a home that we loved in Visalia, CA. It was large and had plenty of space for our growing family. When we moved in the amount of space was overwhelming; we didn’t own enough furniture to fill it! But decorating new spaces is a joy of mine and I had a blank canvas set before me. Over time, I found pieces that fit each room; I rearranged and tried new combinations until each piece of furniture found its home. But this process abruptly ended last January when our family decided to relocate to Oregon. I would be letting go of a lot, as my very big and thoughtfully curated home needed to fit into two, small storage units.

Our slated move date was June, which provided a cushion to help avoid the last minute packing frenzy. I am thankful for those months of sorting and sifting. I could take my time and let my emotions rise and fall as I relived the memories shared in our home. The weeks passed by and it became clear that we still owned much more stuff than we had room for. The initial round of purging was easy, because I was letting go of things I didn’t care about. What was more difficult, was making a decision on the list of items that I wasn’t ready to part with. I began to feel overwhelmed...

A few nights ago I was driving back from Portland to Hood River alone. I was listening to my music loud and singing louder still. As I was driving along the Gorge a sign indicating that Multnomah Falls was the next exit caught my attention. I’ve been to the falls many times, but never climbed to the top. In a moment of impulse I pulled over and decided I would make the trek. On my way in, many were on their way out. I continued on, but to my disappointment found only part of the trail was open. The part I had walked before. A large wrought iron gate stopped me from proceeding to the place I was planning to go. The trails were icy and it was the safer option to not push forward. But, had the gate not been there I probably would have kept going.

It was starting to get dark as I walked back to the car. A single lamppost caught my attention and these words rang in my ears.

“Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path.” Psalm 119:105

The path I wanted to take was closed, but there was a path lit for me to walk along safely. A path that would lead me home.

This past summer I took my kids to see the new Pixar movie Inside Out. It was a great film that entertained people of all ages. The story dove headlong into the role that our emotions and memories play in our lives. I would have to agree. It caused me to pause and think about moments that significantly shaped me- the movie referred to these moments as "core memories" Today I want to share one of mine with you.

I prided myself in being a good student. I worked hard, and it paid off. My 8th grade year at Divisadero Middle School was one I was looking forward to. I had a year of junior high under my belt and I began the year with confidence. I had been placed with the team of teachers I was hoping to be assigned to and the year was looking up. I particularly enjoyed my Honors English class. My teacher's name was Mrs. Williams and she was sophisticated, regal and poised. She often donned a string of pearls with her pant suits. Her rendition of Casual Friday entailed slacks and a blouse. I never saw her in denim or sporting a hoodie. She displayed her school spirit by placing a Divisadero pennant on the wall of her class room along with the Ivy league schools she was encouraging us to aim towards. I loved her class. She challenged me to be more clear and articulate in my communication and she expected great things from me.

In the Spring we were assigned a research paper. It was a large part of our grade and was built out in terms of format and content. The assignment was to select three people to research and then find a common attribute between them. For a girl whose favorite game is Tri-Bond, this assignment had me excited. I started the quest to determine which three people would be the subjects of my study. I selected John Walsh (America's Most Wanted Host), Joni Eareckson Tada (a paraplegic artist and motivational speaker), and Anne Frank (Holocaust survivor). I was eager to look at their three unique stories and tie them together with the theme of resilience and determination. I spent plenty of time thinking about how this project was all going to come together, but the actual amount of time I spent transferring those thoughts into action began to pose a problem. I had always had a relatively easy time in school. My tactic of waiting until the last minute had panned out thus far. My strategy of procrastination was falling apart and time was my enemy.

I vividly remember staying up into the early morning hours to finish typing my paper. The morning the assignment was due I skimmed it one more time and made sure I did one last spell check. I hated seeing the screen littered with words underlined in red. I was relieved to have the paper completed and the weight of it off of my shoulders. The assignment was pushed to the back of my mind and I didn't think about it again until I the day we got our grades. That day arrived and I was in shock and awe. The letter that I saw on my paper was one I had never seen before on any work that I had done. I had gotten a D. All my people pleasing, perfectionist, good girl alarms were screaming in my head and came pouring out my eyes. I was embarrassed, confused, and felt like a failure. I managed to make it through the class and was eagerly waiting to dodge out as soon as I could. The bell rang, and I sheepishly tried to escape without Mrs Williams noticing. It didn't happen.

"Miss Hammond, may I speak with you?"

My muscles stiffened and I tried to appear brave, though inwardly I was shriveling, The written correction was soon to be accompanied with an audio sound track.

"I was disappointed when I read your paper. The incident that communicated to me your carelessness in this process, was that you misspelled the name of one of the main characters throughout the whole piece. I expected to see more out of you."

I exited that conversation as soon as I was able and plopped down on a table in the courtyard. I took out my paper and looked at the scores of red circles all over the page. The name Joni (Eareckson Tada) had been spelled Join throughout my whole paper. I flashed back to earlier that morning when I was rushing to get my paper printed and did one last spell check. Every Joni had been changed to Join. My procrastination had lead to carelessness. Even though I had thought about this paper and its content, none of that made it through in my work, I had put the " i" in the wrong place, and it was a detrimental mistake. It rang loud and clear that I didn't pay enough attention to spell the name of my research topic correctly.

I made myself a commitment that I would not make that mistake again. I would check things over closely and not wait until the last minute. Lack of planning makes way for carelessness, and carelessness begins to affect the things that actually matter a great deal to us.

This scholastic train wreak happened when I was 13 years old. I am now 36. It is astounding to me that something that happened 23 years ago has stuck with me the way this incident has. This experience has been continuing to unfold for me throughout the years. When it comes to my mind, I seem to find a new truth or lesson to uncover and explore.

The most recent event that triggered this memory was a conversation I was having with my counselor. I was being given "feedback" on reporting my heightened levels of weariness and fatigue. An observation was made, followed by a simple question.

"It sounds like you are constantly pouring out time, energy and care into your kids, in your marriage, in ministry and your friendships. That is a lot of emptying without much filling. Who is pouring into you?"

I fought against what was being implied. I love all these things and they bring me life. I didn't get far down that line of thinking, when my counselor interjected and said.

"I would agree, you seem to value all these things, but you are lacking balance. It is healthy to have a variety of relationships, some, where you are the giver, some, where there is an equal exchange, and some, where you are the recipient. You seem to lack relationships where you are able to be strictly on the receiving end."

He read my mail and I was reeling a bit. I was identifying for the first time that I was uncomfortable with receiving something without having something to offer in return. Learning self-care, and making it a priority in my life is essential to help minimize the weariness and fatigue that I had become well acquainted with. When running on empty, even the noble attempts to give and love others can be more about us than them.

It highlights where I am finding my worth. When I have put "I" in the wrong place, I have believed that my needs are always worth putting on the back-burner for the sake of the greater good. I want to be someone who loves well, is selfless and is willing to be available to those around me. The problem is found when I keep doing it for others without receiving it myself.

When we are careless with ourselves, then we become careless with other people. When we understand and embrace the principle of abiding, it shifts how we see ourselves in relationship to God. When we position ourselves under the faucet of God's love - to be continually filled up - and choose to have everything we pour out to come from a place of overflow, we are showing a sustainable model of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. This is where I want to live and reside. When I give and I give and I don't take time to rest and receive, it can begin to affect how I see God. God is a giver and He gives generously to us. He gives us a gift and He wants us to accept it, to open it, to use it and enjoy it. I have been challenged with, and convicted by, seeing how often I will receive from God just to quickly turn and give it away. So really, I'm not receiving, I'm just transporting, and that has affected how I function. When I don't receive love or receive grace or receive peace or receive forgiveness, then I am in no place to give it away. Self care is important. There are consequences to putting I in the wrong place. When we don't take the invitation to rest and receive seriously, we can actually be a detriment to those we have been called to serve.

Today marks the 13th anniversary of my engagement to Taylor. A baker's dozen. My mind wandered back to the beginning of our journey of love and commitment. I remember clearly the day he popped the question. It was a Sunday. I was feeling crummy and fighting off a cold. My sickness mirrored the cold, wet, weather of a Chicago winter. We had gone to lunch at Red Robin with friends and upon leaving I quickly headed home to put on soft clothes and snuggle-up under a warm blanket. I fell asleep on the couch that afternoon only to be woken up by Taylor at my doorstep a few hours later. He was dressed nicely, wearing his navy blue pea coat (with a popped collar) as well as his Swiss Army cologne. I, on the other hand, was wearing stretchy work-out pants, an oversized, yellow Young Life sweatshirt, and a nose red and raw from tissue aggravation.

He greeted me with a kiss and asked if I would help him with an interview for a class assignment he needed to complete. He needed to interview a recent college graduate about their transition into the workplace. We worked through the interview questions, there were 10, and then he He shifted his body from the couch to the floor and said "I have one more question to ask...Will you marry me?"

Immediately filled with emotions and joyously overwhelmed, I said "yes". We hugged, kissed, and laughed, and then did it all once more. Taylor's parents had flown in from Oregon a few days prior and we had plans to meet up with them. I freshened up, and when heading out to the living room, bumped into one of my roommates. My first thought was "was she here the whole time? Had she observed or heard our intimate moment? I really hope not." Unfortunately, thoughts much like this one invaded my cerebral air space the rest of the evening.

We arrived at the house where my soon to be in-laws were staying and shared the events of the evening over a meal. I became aware that my dreamer-visionary-for-everything-wedding persona that overtook the conversation was a bit overwhelming for my mother in law. I explained my hopes and plans for our wedding and she kindly smiled and nodded. The night wrapped up and Taylor dropped me back at my place. As my head fell into the pillow that night, I felt confused by the myriad of emotions warring inside of me. The day that I had anticipated and dreamt about had come. I was engaged to the man I loved with all my heart. Why was I feeling anything besides joy and anticipation? I had an expectation for how this moment would feel, and it wasn't what I was experiencing.

The following day a friend of mine stopped by. She too had just gotten engaged, two days prior in fact. I had not yet heard her story or seen the ring. I welcomed her into my room and we plopped down on the white, overstuffed down comforter. We were not 5 minutes into the conversation when we looked at each other we both stopped. After a long pause she said,

" I thought this would feel different."

"Me too," I echoed. I didn't know how to untangle my unmet expectations from my current reality.

I had graduated from Wheaton College the previous May in 2002, and still lived in the area. Taylor, a bit younger than I, was in his second semester of his junior year at Wheaton. It was not long before news of our engagement traveled amongst our friends. It was before the days of social media, so the event was not documented in photo or text and sent out to the masses moments after it occurred. We had the luxury of explaining, in person, the events leading up to the engagement. But, the thing was, I was quick to launch into details about the wedding, skipping those of our engagement. It didn't take long for Taylor to notice this and he brought it to my attention.

He asked why I was acting weird. I mustered up the courage to tell him that I was a disappointed that he hadn't thought through making the moment just between us - that I had been let down knowing that we weren't alone. What he told me in response was a glimpse into parts of his personality that have continued to unfold over the course of our marriage.

He explained that he had crafted two or three, different, more "extravagant" ideas of how to propose. He had been thinking about them for weeks. He has purchased my ring when he was home over Christmas break and his parents had brought it with them when they arrived a few days prior. He said once he saw the ring he just kept looking at it over and over. Ultimately, he couldn't wait...even long enough to execute the plan he had originally orchestrated.

This response and moment revealed Taylor's eager excitement to make our impending covenant known to all by the ring he put on my finger. My response revealed that I was thinking about the appearance of something rather than the significance of what had happened. The moment I was in, was being stolen from by the expectation I had clung to so tightly. This is not a moment I am proud to admit, but I do so knowing that I'm not alone. My hope is that what I learned will not be wasted. That others who find themselves driven by expectations will lean in and listen. I am so thankful to say that is not where the story ends.

Wedding planning began in no time. We had six months to plan a California wedding while living in Illinois. Taylor and I worked together on plans and juggled the task with a grace that was unexpected. We dreamt together about what that day, and the many days to follow, would look and feel like.

When the day of our wedding arrived, it was so hot that you wanted to retreat to the indoors. While many others sweated it out during the ceremony, Taylor and I relished every moment. The lesson that had been unfolding for me over the past months was sinking in to a much greater degree. When we focus on what something looks like to others who are viewing it from the outside in, we forego the joy of being the main character in our own life. The story has a limited amount of players, and when we try to pull others in from the stadium seats, often people and perspectives that don't matter, we dilute the potency of the story being told.

The tendencies and inner workings of Taylor's personality that were put on display through the story of our engagement are things that have become more prominent throughout the course of our relationship. They are things that I love dearly and have actually become my favorite. He loves to plan surprises, but it is very rare that he can keep the secret. He is great at planning getaway trips and fun nights of adventure, but without fail, a day or two before the trip he spills the beans. I have come to enjoy that I get to experience the excitement twice - the unveiling of the surprise, and the surprise itself.

Growing in love with this man over the past 13 years has shaped me and shown me a tangible expression of grace. I am vulnerable, exposed, messy and sometimes downright mean, and He still chooses to call out what is good and lovingly helps to cover my shortcomings. We are two imperfect people, believing that because we love and serve a perfect God, that this thing can work and is actually a really good idea.

"My favorite part of a Jewish wedding is the breaking of the glass. Like most Jewish traditions, there are a whole bunch of interpretations: some say that all the shards of broken glass suggest loads of future children and future happiness. Some say that the breaking of the glass references the irreversible nature of marriage: in the same way that a glass can never be put back together after it is broken, two people can never be separated once they have been connected by marriage. But my favorite interpretation is the one where the wine in the glass is a symbol for all of life, and when the bride and the groom drink it, they accept both the bitter and the sweet aspects of life. They accept that sometimes they'll celebrate and sometimes they'll mourn, in the same way that sometimes they'll drink wine and sometimes glasses will shatter." -Shauna Niequist -Bittersweet.

We are currently coming off of a year of marriage that has felt more fragmented than the ones before. Instead of looking at this reality as negative, I am beginning to understand that hardship and difficulty are deeper and darker shades of color that help to accentuate the lighter ones. The contrast points to a love that is rooted and rich, one that is becoming strong. I'm not Jewish, and sadly, I have never been to a Jewish wedding. I hope to attend one someday. Regardless, the description above about wine and shattered glass resonates deeply with me. This many years into marriage I can attest that this phenomenon is true. I imagine this acceptance of both the bitter and sweet aspects of life will prove to be a repetitive cycle. A beautiful, repetitive cycle I choose to embrace.

The holidays represent a season of reflection. A time to recap the events of the year and connect with loved ones that are far off. A welcomed opportunity to look in the faces of those near to me and communicate my love and gratitude.

Tradition holds a prominent place this time of year. I caution falling into familiar patterns without connecting to their purpose and meaning. Tradition, done strictly for tradition sake is meaningless. Connecting to the roots of tradition can breathe life to something that may otherwise have been relegated to old and distant.

Exercising love and gratitude are practices worth doing whether one is well acquainted with them or not. They are as necessary and nourishing as food and water. When I stop, and with intention, reflect on the good gifts generously given to me, it helps to silence the despair and disappointment that is baiting me with its seemingly urgent lie - that evil outweighs good.

Fight with hope and thankfulness. Wield your weapons of joy and love to dismantle cynicism and fear. Celebrate the life you have right now. Speak what is true and cling to what is good. Christmas commemorates the beautiful beginning of the greatest love story of all time. That story belongs to me and it belongs to you. Hold it closely.

“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:8‬ ‭

Writing is enjoyable for me. The process can be arduous, but the refining is meaningful. My aim is to get the reconciled words of my heart and mind down on the page to be communicated to those who walk beside me and go behind me, specifically my children. Our lives and actions are constantly communicating. Writing is a discipline to communicate what exists in the deep places that often does not make its way to the surface.

Consistently I am moved when reading a letter from one person written to another. I'll weep as I read the penned love letters between spouses distanced by continents and wars. Pages filled with affection and wisdom from fathers and mothers to their children, cause me to catch my breath.

The memories of the emotions I've felt while observing these tender moments has moved me to action. I've penned letters to my precious people. I laughed and I cried as I struggled to communicate what was inside of me. Searching for the words and the phrases was a process infused with love.

Your people need to know what you think about them and how deeply they are treasured.

Have you told them?

And, maybe as equally important as delivering it, is hearing yourself say it. It softens the edges that we often work so hard to avoid. Speak your truth and see how your words open up the most beautiful of spaces.

Margot.

I love the light sprinkle of freckles that have begun to show up on your nose. Your skin has kept its soft, smooth texture even as you have gotten older. When I snuggle you in my arms I feel your skin, and I close my eyes and imagine holding your small, newborn body in my arms.

You are a delight to me. I look into your eyes and I see that they are full of wonder and imagination. You have always been an observer. You watch and drink in what is going on around you. I love to see an idea begin to take root in your mind. Your scurry around gathering the people and things needed to execute your plan. You are a leader and a visionary. I’m anticipating seeing you carry out the visions and dreams that are entrusted into your hands.

Thank you for being a loving and caring sister. I love watching how you have taken Lucy under your wing and how you look out for her. Hudson is always up to challenge you to a duel. When you aren’t hurting each other, you are pushing each other to be excellent, to not give up and to keep at it. Your relationship with Ryken is unique and beautiful. You have learned to navigate life side by side, while making room for the other. You rejoice in the different gifts you each possess. As your mother I love seeing your relationship unfold.

I thank God for the gift that you are to me and our family. He has great plans for your life. My prayer is that you will have a deep love for the one who created you. That you will delight in His ways and be lead by His voice. I’m sincerely looking forward to getting to know you as you continue to grow and change. I love you very much.

Ryken.

The first thing that comes to my mind when I think of you is your laughter. When you laugh you crinkle your nose and throw back your head. You are carefree and uninhibited. You carry compassion with you and easily disperse it. You fulfill the role of daughter, sister and friend with thoughtfulness and care. You engage with the world around you. You linger and you listen. I catch you repeating bits of information that you have stored away from an overheard conversation from days earlier. You are curious and want to learn. You seek the Truth, and I am confident that you will find it and never let it go.

The party starts with you. Celebrating is an innate quality you possess. I love that you set the table for breakfast, or just an afternoon snack, with fancy dishes and a centerpiece. You look around you to find beauty and are bubbling over with excitement to share it with everyone you know.

I see that God has given you a generous heart. Whenever you have money you are so quick to give it away. You share quickly and with joy. It is an example to me. I love that you give so freely without expecting anything in return.

You furrow your brow when you forming a question or wrestling with an idea. I always hope that you will share it with me. You always do. You are an open book and you wear your feelings on your sleeve. I treasure this. I want you to share honestly about your life and not feel the need to edit or hide things. You are quick to repent when you have made a mistake. You desire to live a life of reconciled relationships. To know you is to love you. You are confident in who you are and I love the quirkiness that you possess. I have thought to myself often that if I was your same age that I would choose you to be my friend. I’m looking forward to watching you grow and change into a young woman. You are beautiful Ryken, starting from the inside out.

Hudson.

My son. You are strong and you are tender. I could not have picked a better combination. You love big and you fight hard. You want justice and you extend mercy. As you continue to grow older, I’ve wondered when you will grow out of wanting more swords and weapons for your birthday. Your room is full of them and you dream of having more. You were made to stand up and defend. You were made to fight for noble causes.

You are the only boy in the midst of three girls, but you feel big feelings and don’t lack in emotion. You are a person made to enjoy other people and people enjoy you. Your eyes smile just a few moments before your mouth does. You already know how to love well. You pursue and you give without restraint. Those around you never question how you feel about them.

Since you were little you would spot a stranger at the park and leave with them as your friend. You have influence even at the young age of 5. People look to you to lead and direct. My prayer is that you would live a life worthy to be followed.

There are so many things that I love about you, but right now my favorite thing is how you so easily encourage others. You truly rejoice when others succeed and root them on in all their endeavors. Watching you as a teammate on your sports teams makes me so proud. You are always quick to put your arm around a friend and tell them to keep trying and not give up. You are the loudest fan from the sidelines when your buddies are in the game. That is such a significant sign of a leader. You want others to succeed and be their best. It isn't about you. It is about them.

I know we go head to head often. I think you and I are alike in many ways. I’m working on not reacting to you and to parent with patience and grace. I’m glad we have learned to hug it out. Let’s never stop doing that. I love you Hudson.

Lucy.

You are the light of our family. You bring joy wherever you go. You have a sense of humor that surpasses your age and you are adaptable in many different situations. You are independent and strong and courageously try new things such as onions and diving boards. You like both.

When I was pregnant with you I imagined a sweet, precious baby girl, which you are. You are also so much more than that. You have so much life and curiosity inside of you and you are so quick to extend love to those around you.

You find your way into the bed between Dad and I almost every night. Your soft squishy skin presses up against mine and you stroke my cheek with your little stubby hands. I treasure that you want to be so close and want to comfort and love me in the ways I have loved you. It is a sweet gift that I treasure.

I’ve let you stay a “baby” longer than any of the other kids. There are behaviors and habits that you exhibit that are no longer age appropriate, but I am so very aware that this is the last go around. I hope that I am not psychologically stunting your growth by my sentimental tactics. If I am, I will pay for your therapy sessions.

I can already tell that you have a self assurance and confidence that will not easily be shaken. You move forward knowing where you are headed and what you want. You play hard and laugh a lot. Having dinner with you at the table is a guarantee for jokes and silly antics. It is medicine to our family. Don’t ever lose the joy.

You notice the small things and are so thankful for them, A week has passed since a mechanical horse ride at the store and you still thank me for it three times a day. This combination of joy, gratitude and strength is exceptionally beautiful. God has marked you and set you apart. The light He has put inside of you is bright and has already been far reaching in these three short years. I love watching you shine. It is what you were made to do.

When I first met Taylor, I was intrigued. He was obviously attractive, athletic and intelligent, but there was something more. Being a relationally motivated person, I know how to keep conversations flowing. I am constantly asking questions to find out more about people. What I immediately noticed and was drawn to in Taylor, was that he came to the table asking a completely different set of questions. His eye saw things that mine didn’t. His ears heard sounds that I would have missed.

Lucky for me, after hanging around with each other for awhile, Taylor asked me if we could hang out forever. I have never regretted saying yes. He still intrigues me and comes to the table with a different set of questions than ones that I would think to ask. He is sharp and quick; witty and dry; tender and full of mercy. I am continually learning from him. He inspires and he motivates.

One of the gifts that he has given to me and to those around him is documentation. He captures life as it unfolds. He somehow fades into the background and captures beautiful moments exchanged between kindred hearts. An exchange and/or interaction that I experienced in real time, was captured from a different vantage point, from an alternate perspective. It adds a fullness and richness to the memory of the moment. I treasure that those experiences can be revisited and remembered in a more robust way.

These things that have been documented over time are treasures to me. I find joy in sharing the things that I love, so I am sharing these moments with you. I want everyone to know that I am married to an extremely amazing and talented man. I love you Taylor Carl Armerding. I always will.

Capturing footage of our 4th celebration has become a tradition. I'm hoping these continue for decades.

We stole away to the PNW for a getaway. I'm so glad that this day was documented. It is a day I wish I could do over and over again.

A school performance I missed while visiting my sister in Georgia. A love letter in pictures.

When Taylor and I were newly engaged, we set out into the world of wedding registration. Walking into our Northwest Chicago suburban Bed Bath & Beyond felt overwhelming for us mostly broke 20-somethings. Taylor assumed the position, gun in hand ready to shoot, and we began to make our way through the massive store. It was not long before the first argument ensued. We stood in the aisle with the small appliances - toasters, blenders, coffee makers and the like. I voted for the middle of the road selection- something that wasn't cheap, but not too expensive, but Taylor wasn't having it. He was aiming for the base level models. Living off one small income ourselves, he couldn't fathom registering for something that we would not be able to afford for one of our own friend's weddings. I conceded, fearing our primarily college-aged wedding guests might be offended at something with a high price point. We registered for the base models of all appliances in shades of white.

Those appliances lasted for about 3 years before needing replacements. The one in particular that caused us problems was the blender. No matter what we were blending, the smell and taste of burnt rubber was its dominant ingredient. A year after we were married we packed our things and moved from Illinois to California. I'm pretty sure the blender was accidentally left off our packing list.

One of the benefits of living in the same town as my parents during this next season, is that we got "gently used" hand me downs, one of which was a stainless steel blender with a variety of attachments. It had a food processor attachment as well as a whisk - two features I rarely used. Despite its capabilities, this appliance was primarily used as a blender, until it broke. Then it sat in my cupboard for a long time. Like years. We didn't know exactly what was wrong with it so we didn't know exactly how to fix it. There was a fool's hope that it might start working again. It was so pretty and shiny and capable I just couldn't bring myself to throw it out. Eventually, it either made its way into one of our garage sales or was a casualty of a spring cleaning binge, but I don't have a clear recollection as to what happened to it. I just knew that we didn't have a working blender and I can still remember the space in the cupboard that it occupied all those years.

We adapted to not having a blender, until a day when I had an intense craving for a blended margarita to accompany the fish tacos we were having for dinner. I phoned our good friends the Jeffersons and asked to borrow theirs. True to form, they were quick to share and brought it over. The meal was delightful and the cold, icy beverage just the fix to combat the 100 degree heat.

The summer ended and the school year began again, which meant schedules and to-do lists were in full effect. The house we live in has a plethora of storage, which is a blessing and a curse. I have lots of places to store the things I no longer need, or never needed. Out of sight equals out of mind. This particular week, my to-do list was to purge the kitchen cabinets. I got to it and I was effective. I was sorting and purging and filling up the trash as well as the garage sale bins. I came across the cabinet with the blender and without any thought, declared it broken and threw it in the trash. The day felt productive and I was glad to have accomplished something I could check off my list.

A few Saturdays later, my friend Nathan showed up while we were flipping pancakes. He enjoyed a cup of coffee with us before stating the reason for his visit. They were making fruit smoothies for breakfast and he came to get their blender. I opened the cupboard to retrieve it and then it all came into focus. Gulp. “Hey Nate, I threw away your blender. I can't believe I did it. I was cleaning and assumed that the broken one that occupied the cupboard for so long was what was in there. I pitched your perfectly good blender. I'm so sorry. I'll get you a replacement.” Nate razzed me a bit and then responded with grace. It is now a standing joke to keep blenders under lock and key when I am around.

This event has been revisiting my thoughts often this week. The second or third time it came to my mind, I felt like there was some strange significance to it that needed to be explored. I asked God if there was something He wanted to show me through these small, mundane things in my life. The Holy Spirit began to illuminate how my experiences and responses to what felt like a trivial set of issues with some appliances actually revealed something deeper about the state of my heart.

He brought to my attention stewardship and gratitude. I saw a parallel between how I related to each blender and how I've related to the provision God has given me. I'll try to unpack this cause yes...this is a blog about blenders.

Blender #1 - My decision to concede with a bottom-of-the-line blender for our wedding registration was driven by feeling self-conscious about asking for a high-end version. Certainly our wedding guests would feel inconvenienced with such a request. I internalized that we didn't really deserve something expensive and that asking for it was actually off-putting. I was simply too worried to ask for what I wanted because of what other people might think.

My response, hidden is some seemingly insignificant situation from twelve years ago, was a response in which I have become well acquainted. God is a giver. He gives and gives and gives and gives. And despite knowing this, I have found myself again and again downgrading what I really want to ask Him for because I'm thinking about what other people are thinking about. Whether the situation has involved a need for healing, monetary provision, or something just miraculous, I have too often settled for base level model requests. It lacks faith, it's rooted in a fear of man, and it actually makes light of the gospel because it misses the massive extent to which God went to redeem mankind to himself.

Blender #2 - When we were provided with a new, upgraded version from my folks, I didn't take the time to maximize its value or even learn how to fully use it. It wasn't something that I chose or paid for. It was used, and therefore not as good in my mind. When it broke down, I was content to just let it be that way. The irony in this situation is that I would have never with my own money shopped for something like the blender my parents gave me.

As I reflected on this situation, again the Holy Spirit began showing me that I have responded in similar fashion to what I've believed to be a spiritual hand-me-down from God. I felt a fresh conviction about how I've done this with myself. There are parts of my personality that frankly I've not understood. I've not known how to use them and I've questioned why God made me the way he did. In my confusion I have concluded that some areas of me are simply broken parts - parts that don't seem terribly necessary and really aren't worth attempting to fix.

Now just in case that last paragraph confused you, I am not talking about my "broken parts" like my brokenness. I came into this world broken and marred with a sin nature just like everyone. I have lived in this world, willfully sinning and attempting to satisfy myself...not debating this. But in the same way this gifted blender from my parents had some really unique and resourceful attributes that I never explored, I believe God has given each of us a set of gifts and abilities that require some discovery and most likely some redemption.

Blender #3 - When our friends lent us their blender we probably should have just given it back the next day. But because I had stored our blenders in the same spot for so many years, I just put theirs in the same spot without thinking. And when I threw it out, that was just an honest accident right? It probably was, but I knew there was more to explore in this situation as well.

I felt the Holy Spirit asking me about whether I miss God's provision because I relate to it as charity. The generosity from our friends was great in the moment but eventually a more dominate narrative took over - that we've had a broken blender that we can't fix and just needs to be thrown out. I realized that so often God shows up, he responds, he delivers, he answers prayers. And yet, within a few short days, or weeks, or months, I start playing old tapes about the lack in my life. I have taken his gifts and the testimony of his faithfulness and have casually disposed of it because I am stuck in the past.

As I processed through these realizations about how I have responded to God's provision and how I have responded to the way he made me, the parable of the talents came to mind. If you read through the passage below, let God uncover places He wants to be surrendered and alive; risking and believing that He is a good master. When we do not see Him rightly, we are the ones who suffer.

“It's also like a man going off on an extended trip. He called his servants together and delegated responsibilities. To one he gave five thousand dollars, to another two thousand, to a third one thousand, depending on their abilities. Then he left. Right off, the first servant went to work and doubled his master's investment. The second did the same. But the man with the single thousand dug a hole and carefully buried his master's money.

"After a long absence, the master of those three servants came back and settled up with them. The one given five thousand dollars showed him how he had doubled his investment. His master commended him: 'Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.'

"The servant with the two thousand showed how he also had doubled his master's investment. His master commended him: 'Good work! You did your job well. From now on be my partner.'

"The servant given one thousand said, 'Master, I know you have high standards and hate careless ways, that you demand the best and make no allowances for error. I was afraid I might disappoint you, so I found a good hiding place and secured your money. Here it is, safe and sound down to the last cent.'

"The master was furious. 'That's a terrible way to live! It's criminal to live cautiously like that! If you knew I was after the best, why did you do less than the least? The least you could have done would have been to invest the sum with the bankers, where at least I would have gotten a little interest.

”'Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this “play-it-safe” who won't go out on a limb.“

Spring has delivered sunny days and breezy nights. We've capitalized on the cool evenings and have been sleeping with the windows open. The cool drifts of fresh air in the early mornings is delightful. It makes me want to curl up under the blankets even longer. But, no matter how great that moment feels, there is one thing that will get me to hop out of my bed at light speed...the screaming.

The high pitched siren, met with intense whining gets me to my feet. If you are thinking to yourself that I am a proactive mother dealing promptly with my children, don't. I do not fly out of bed to interrupt and redirect the fighting, to ask questions and defuse the situation, to capitalize with a Mr. Rogers-style lesson in morality. Nope...I RUN...to shut all the open windows. No one should ever have to hear the sound I am experiencing, especially at 6 am. I work to get those windows closed so that when I start in with MY screaming no one outside will hear. I don't want people to know that sound is coming from my house, my offspring, my mouth.

This phenomenon has been heightened recently. The empty lot directly behind our house is now being occupied with new homes. They have been making their way around the street and have now begun to lay the foundation for the house directly behind us. Before, when the scream explosion would happen, I ran to the windows imagining the neighbors on either side of us, sitting on their patios or sleeping with their windows open, and that sound entering their serene space. But, there was also the hope they were inside with the windows shut, and the sound landed only on the grass and trees. Now imagination has given way to reality - I know there are people out there because I can see them, and I can hear them. No more hiding.

I despise this pattern of behavior in me. I twinge every time it happens, yet, I do it over and over again. I want to fight hard to keep the mess inside. But lately I have noticed some fatigue setting in from all my effort trying to portray a life that is put together. I know in my guts the futility of trying to live like this. Accolades from others only causes me to tread water longer, becoming exhausted and getting nowhere fast. I have a sense that I am not alone in this. This is the condition of the human heart - the desire to be well thought of, to be affirmed, to be impressive, to stand out - and we will perform in order to achieve these things.

"Remember He is the artist and you are only the picture. You can't see it. So quietly submit to be painted- i.e., keep fulfilling all the obvious duties of your station (you really know quite well enough what they are!), asking forgiveness for each failure and then leaving it alone. You are in the right way. Walk- don't keep on looking at it." - C.S. Lewis

I know in my mind the truth of God's grace and His love for me. I have heard that I don't have to perform for Him enough times that I think I believe it. I think I know the truth but I'm not sure all the thinking has produced change. My desire to be strong and capable stands in the way of allowing this truth to penetrate the walls of my heart. I do not want my desire to strive, work and prove to block the thing I am despertely needing. Grace can solve the condition of the human heart.

"Have you not heard? Have you never understood? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of all the earth. He never grows weak or weary. No one can measure the depths of His understanding. He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless. Even youths will become weak and tired, and young men will fall in exhaustion. But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint." Isaiah 40: 28-31

Let it be.

These words water a deep place inside of me. A place so dry that it is cracked and breaking. The truth of this passage has the power to change my reality. When I receive His grace I can then extend it to my children. The grace you get is the grace you give. I don't want to live in the conversation of fear and failure any longer. It takes a conscious choice to let Truth interrupt the conversation that has been looping on repeat. I am weak, but He is strong. My weakness showcases His strength.

“….'My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.' So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work though me.” 2 Corinthians 12:9

God's word leads me into living a life where I'm not pretending. He leads me toward living a life of integrity - one where the inside and the outside look the same. He empowers me to say no to living a divided life - one messy, closed-off, and hidden and the other composed, buttoned-up, and polished. Again and again I have seen God pursue me in the midst of the mess. He isn't embarrassed by my screaming fits. He doesn't shush me and shut me up. He moves towards me. He loves me with a love that can heal all my broken places.

In the spring of 2014, our family was in the midst of some change. It was good change, but change that revealed fear, doubt and insecurity that was alive and growing on the inside of me. I was desperate for more of God. Some big questions and big dreams were rattling around in my head and heart. I had a longing to connect to women - older sisters and mothers - who were further along the race than me. Women that would speak truth, believe God, risk in boldness and obedience, champion the cause of Christ, and call others to do the same. I began talking to God about those desires and longings. I made my request known.

God answered me...through the internet. It was not the vehicle that I expected, but, His ways are not my ways, so I decided to trust the process.

One evening in April God showed up. I stumbled upon to the IF:Gathering webpage. I started reading and didn't stop. I devoured every word. As I read each story, my heart began to beat a little faster. I knew that night, that I would be in Austin in February 2015.

I want to share the fullness of all that God did and spoke to me on the evening of Saturday, February 7th, in Austin, Texas. In my attempt to portray it all clearly, I have to go back a bit. So here is the back story.

I've known God since I was young, but it was not until 12 years ago that I experienced the power of the Holy Spirit in my life. It changed the game. I was filled with a fervor and a faith that kept me awake at night. One of the things that I prayed for in boldness, was for resurrected life. I wasn't speaking figuratively. I wanted to the dead to rise and proclaim the name of Jesus. I read the book of Acts and prayed to see that type of power in my life and in the stories of those around me. Shortly after this experience, In late November 2004, a friend of mine from college was tragically killed in a car accident. My husband and I were newly married and had little to no wiggle room in our finances. The funeral was in Wisconsin and the possibility of going looked bleak. The day after receiving the news of Andrew's death, some dear friends provided us the money for two plane tickets. They sensed that God wanted us to be there for the funeral. We immediately booked our flights. And I immediately began praying for my friend Andrew to be raised from the dead. I didn't have a clue as to how to pray this way, but I prayed with all the faith I had in me. We attended the funeral and I was on pins and needles the whole time. I had faith that something was going to happen. My heart leapt as the pastor laid his hand on the pine casket. I believed that God could do it, that He would do it. After the service was completed the casket was brought into the church foyer. Friends and family were given the opportunity to write on the pine casket if they chose to. I don't remember what I wrote on the casket, but I put both of my hands on it and prayed again. God was able to move in this way but, He chose not to. As the casket was lowered into the ground, the grief set in. I had risked and believed and frankly, now I felt a fool.

Right then, God came near and rushed in. He confronted me with my inaccurate view of heaven. I was believing that it would be better for Andrew to be here. In my mind, and limited understanding, here was better. The promise of eternity is not choir robes, with our hands folded in boredom singing forever. I pictured Andrew, my wonderfully creative friend, playing his guitar, dancing and laughing with His Creator. God wanted to show me the truth, even if at the time it was just a glimpse, about eternity, His character, and the promise of heaven. I still felt a bit sheepish for believing for such a big thing- for the dead to be raised- but what He spoke to me about heaven that day spoke of His goodness. Andrew was worshipping God in eternity and that was a promise of God fulfilled. I would chose to have faith and risk again.

I did not expect to be presented with the opportunity to pray for resurrected life again so soon - especially not on behalf of the life inside my womb. A year and a half after Andrew died I was given the news that the baby that had been growing inside of me was now lifeless, no beat to its heart. This baby had been prayed for, longed for and celebrated from the moment of its conception. The heart had stopped, but my body was not beginning the process of miscarriage. The baby was staying put, lifeless inside of me. I was ready to go again with God. I know it didn't happen with Andrew, but I was praying once again for resurrected life. I was banking on the promise that with God, all things are possible. His word says He did it then, so He could do it now.

I prayed for weeks. My doctor recommended a D&C if my body did not miscarry on its own. I desperately did not want that to happen. I still had a hope and I needed to get to Jesus. I drove to see a dear friend of mine who has been a spiritual mother to me. I needed someone to sit with me, to pray with me as I fell apart. I was desperate. What happened that day changed me forever. My friend Linda looked at me and said, “Let's ask Jesus some questions”. Prayer was not a new practice to me, but learning to listen and ask specific questions definitely was. I complied. I was wanting divine intervention in this struggle of faith and hope. I closed my eyes. I sat and waited until in my mind's eye I could see Jesus.

I asked him the simple question...“Is the baby with you, or is the baby with me?” What He told me next I will never forget. He said, "The baby is with me". That was not the answer I was wanting to hear, but I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and love in that moment.

Linda prompted me to continue to ask Jesus questions if I had them. I continued on,

"What sex was the baby?”

"I gave you a first born son”

“What is his name?”

[For all of you women out there who have children or have ever dreamed of having children, I know you have a list of names. I had a very long list of names that I had been compiling, long before ever being pregnant. The name that Jesus spoke to me next was a name that had never been on my list.]

“His name is Zachary”

My friend Tiffany, who had traveled with me to Linda's house that day quickly ran into the other room to pull out the name meaning book. She flipped to the back section until she came to the Z's and found the name. What she said next I could have never anticipated. “Zachary means Jehovah remembers.”

I asked Jesus one final question.

“Can I see him?”

At that moment I experienced what I can best describe as an open vision. My eyes were closed, but suddenly I was seeing things so clearly they felt real. I was on a beach standing a few feet away from the crashing waves. I looked to my left and saw a beautiful blonde-haired blue eyed boy running towards me. He looked to be about 18 months old to my estimation. He was wearing a white shirt with thin red and blue pin stripes. He ran into my arms and I held him tightly. I buried my head in his neck. And, I wept. He was happy and whole and rubbing his chubby little hands all over my tear stained face. He was perfect.

I stayed in that moment for what felt like an hour. I was unaware of time and space. Linda's voice broke through and beckoned me saying “When you are ready, give him to Jesus”.

I saw Jesus standing next to me on that beach and I knew it was time. With fresh tears I kissed Zachary and handed him to Jesus. What struck me, was that Jesus was crying with me. He knew how this felt, He knew what it cost and He was with me. His presence provided me a peace and strength that was supernatural.

It was finished, and I was a puddle of tears on the ground. I had received news that I never wanted to hear- that my baby boy inside my womb, would never be held in my arms on this side of heaven. The weight of that landed on me. Yet, I was covered with a peace I had never known and a love that had never felt so true. I had contended for resurrected life and had come up holding different promises from God than the one I was asking for.

He is with me / He speaks to me / He comforts me / He remembers me.

Those moments happened many years ago, but are still very close to my heart. Since those stone marker moments, my faith has wained. In more seasons than I would ever like to admit, I have doubted the promises of God.

This past year these stories have once again been fresh in my heart and mind. I have begun to ask God about them. He is calling me to live by faith- to once more believe for big things. To believe that He can resurrect life again (figuratively and literally), heal the sick and pour out His power on the earth. I do not want to fall prey to the lie of the enemy that I am foolish and naive to think that my God could move like that in the world, in America, in my generation, and in my life. I serve on the women's ministry team at my church. We just started a study on the life a Jesus and the things He calls us to. I have been asked to teach one of the weeks and this message of faith, to believe and contend for big things, is stirring in my heart. I am nervous and fighting against thoughts of sounding like the crazy lady who prays for the dead. It was such a gift to hear countless stories spoken from women around the country about faith from the IF team. Going into the IF:Gathering, my prayer was that as I declare His goodness in the midst of disappointing outcomes, that renewed faith would be the outcome. I needed a fresh encounter with Him as I call other women to live by faith. The above stories I shared are powerful and true in my life, but they happened a long time ago. I was asking God to meet me personally and speak to my heart in such a distinct way that it would be a stone marker I would refer to for decades to come.

He is a God who answers prayer!

I am so thankful for the obedience of others and what it opens up for the rest of us. For what it opens up for me. To all the women who gave endlessly to make IF:gathering a reality, thank you. Thank you for praying. Thank you for laying down your lives. Thank you for speaking the hard words, even if they felt crazy to say. Jennie Allen's first message on Friday morning, February 6th, caused my bones to tremble. I felt the Holy Spirit so powerfully it scared me. And then, it just continued. I wanted to jump out of my seat as Rebekah Lyons talked about revival and when Esther Havens ended with the story of the Guatemalan blind and lame woman having her sight restored and being given the ability to walk, I could not sit still in my seat. My faith was being revived. When I thought I was at capacity and couldn't be filled any more, God wrecked me in the best way. Jen Hatmaker and Jennie Allen got up to talk about Feed the Children, an organization that feeds hungry children in the US and around the globe. I'm not proud to admit this about myself, but this is the time that I tend to tune out or take a bathroom break. But, I didn't. I listened and was excited about the vision, but concluded that it wasn't something that my family could commit to. We are faithful to give, we already sponsor a child, my husband just left corporate America to serve on staff at our church......the excuses went on. Until, I reached below my chair and opened my packet. I pulled out a card and saw a name at the top... ZACHARY

He is an 8 year old boy who lives with his Dad and doesn't have a mom. He walks long miles to school and to the nearest store. His favorite food is boiled hot dogs. And he is hungry.

Time froze. My son Zachary would have been 8 years old on January 29th, 2015. God cut through to the deepest part of me and said...

“Jehovah remembers. I remember your faith. Go again. Believe me for the big things. I see you, I know you, and I will use you. Trust me.”

I filled out my packet that at this point was drenched with tears. I turned in my form and went to the back of the floor level of the auditorium and fell on my face. It was a holy moment. I am scared and unsure of what will come, but I know that my God is able and that my Redeemer lives! I will trust Him and have faith that He is who He says He is. On my stone marker I wrote 4 declarations of faith.

The blind will see / The lame will walk / Sickness will flee / The dead will be raised

These things are happening on the earth, right now. He is pouring out HIs Spirit in power to bring glory to His name. I will pray in faith for these things. I hope I get to see them. But, even if don't, He is good. He is always good.

Several years ago we inherited two potted Japanese Maples from my parents. From time to time we would roll them around our property, testing out new locations in hopes of finding a spot with the right mix of shade and sunlight. They stayed alive but never seemed to really thrive. Last spring, I finally put those trees in the ground. They have grown beautifully. They are more healthy than ever before.

I have found myself surprised by how they've flourished and realized the extent to which being potted had limited their growth. Life in the pot meant limited nutrients and limited development and limited potential. They were not connected to a life source.

I've also observed something that was unexpected. As one of these trees grew and flourished, a small shoot of a different kind sprung up right behind it. I've kept an eye on this shoot and it has now become a large, fast growing tree.

Tay and I have been perplexed as to where it came from and what sort of tree it is. The other day I finally realized what had happened. The Japanese Maple trees had been in pots for years, maybe decades. When we lived at our previous house, we kept one of them on our porch. It sat under the shade of a much larger tree. A seed from that tree had fallen and been lying dormant in the potted soil. Years and years later, this seed found soil, germinated and is now growing and thriving.

It makes me think about my life with God. When I've lived with small faith and believed in a small God, I've been more limited and have found that I'm more dramatically affected by the circumstances and elements around me. But the times that I've believed God is really who He says He is, I break out of those small confining spaces and soak up His truth, life, and the Holy Spirit's living water - all of which nourish the deepest places inside me.

I love the beautiful metaphor found with the unexpected tree hiding out in the potted plant. It is an amazing picture of the dormant things God will awaken in us when we transplant our whole lives in Him. In God it is possible that something altogether new - something unlike us or our natural abilities - can spring forth. When, in faith we step outside the predictable, potted confines of our world and surrender, He will be faithful to grow our roots deep in Him and spread our branches wide. He is longing to be our source. He is longing to use us to make His name famous on the earth.

What parts of your life are a potted tree? Where have you limited God? Are you tired of being in the same spot without growth? God is bigger than you could ever imagine. If you're thirsty, come get a drink. I promise you will not be disappointed.

"For they are transplanted to the Lord's own house. They flourish in the courts of our God. Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, "The Lord is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!" Psalm 92:13-15

Life with four kids does not always lend to peaceful mornings. But on this particular day, I managed to shower and get out of the house on time - I marked it as a win. I'm learning to celebrate the small things, because in this last 5-7 year span, the small things are the only things. I made my way downtown to my favorite coffee shop. The line was long because apparently it isn't only my favorite spot. After ordering I scavenged the place for a seat, and opted for a small two top on the patio outside

The friend I was meeting arrived a bit late and got caught up in a conversation with a woman in line. In the waiting, I started to pay attention to those sitting around me, particularly the table of men to my right. They were probably all 55 or older, and I knew each one of them. I didn't know them well, but each man at the table had a daughter or son, whom I would call a friend. Two of the men were fathers to a few of my elementary school classmates. I have vivid memories of sleepovers at their houses while in 5th and 6th grade where I was introduced to the Rocky HorrorPicture Show, the art of TP-ing and the "couples-skate” at Roller Towne. One of the men was the father of a friend that I met later in life. His daughter and I had worked together at the same PR firm one summer and have been part of the same local church for the past 5 years. The last man sitting at the table was the father of a guy I went to high school with and had a crush on. His son was the captain of the soccer team, who also happens to be the cousin of my high school best friend. I spent a week one summer in a cabin with their whole extended family in Lake Tahoe.

My mind began to wander back to those times and spaces. Life felt easy and uncomplicated in those years. It was a trip down memory lane and a longing to know what my friends were doing and who they had become filled my thoughts and heart. Yet, regardless of all those connections and newly discovered yearnings, I sat there and didn't say a word. I sipped my coffee and busied myself with the scenes and happenings across the street and stayed occupied with social media sites on my phone. I didn't move towards them in posture, eye contact or conversation.

My friend finally made her way to the table and we had a beautiful conversation about risk and obedience and living our lives intentionally looking for how it folds into the bigger story. She recently launched her own photography studio [JackiPotorke.com] and was about to leave for Uganda to participate in the Archibald Project. I was so proud of my friend and the risk she was willing to take because she knew that God was asking her to. I shared with her from a vulnerable place that I sensed that this was the year I was to begin documenting the lives and stories around me that are whispers and shadows of the greatest story ever told. The story of God. I didn't know what that would look like, but I knew that I was already dragging my feet in getting started. Part of writing today is because of that conversation. We dreamed of traveling the world storytelling the lives of those we met, through a moment captured on film, and through the written word. Although those thoughts and desires feel very far off, I need to dream out loud and write them down, for fear they will get lost somewhere in my head and wither away.

I'm learning more and more that words matter. About 2 years ago, something inside me woke up. I began to have a growing appetite for books, for stories. I have lived my life as an extrovert. My friends and family would describe me as an extreme version of the term. I love people. I love hearing about people's lives and the things they are learning and experiencing. I often think about the amazing people that I have not yet met. In these past two years I have settled a bit and found myself longing for a quiet, extended, one-sided conversation with a book, rather than with a group of rowdy friends. Maybe I am repositioning myself on the extrovert/introvert continuum and landing somewhere in the balanced middle. Of course I still desire to be connected to people around me, just in a more intentional way. I want to begin to engage and pay attention in a way that, if I am honest, I have not done until now. Reading other's thoughts, questions and stories has birthed something deep inside me - a desire to engage the world around me with a sense of wonder and awe.

So here I am - looking for meaningful moments amidst the familiar.

It has been a few weeks since the coffee date with my friend, and I cannot shake my lack of courage to interact with the men seated at the table next to me. Why didn't I open my mouth? What was I afraid of? I realized that I was waiting to be noticed, to be recognized. I didn't want to risk sounding foolish. A simple hello and introduction could have changed the course of that morning. I genuinely was curious to know what was going on in the the lives of their children - my friends - and I missed that opportunity because I was scared. I don't want fear to dictate whether I open my mouth. I really had nothing to fear that day. I resolved then that I would live from a greater place of courage, confidence and boldness. I don't want to continue missing those chances to connect and see people. To look them in the eye and ask honest questions. I can't guarantee what I will be given in return, but I am only responsible for my part.

Writing feels like a safe second chance - it provides the opportunity to say the things that I didn't have the courage to the first time around. Writing also feels like a risky endeavor - I'm releasing my words into unknown areas that are outside of my control. Scary and exhilarating all at the same time.

As I write of what is possible with God, my heart beats a bit faster in my chest. This really is the best news ever. I have lived for over 30 years keeping this life-giving reality at bay in conversations. I've told myself that I don't want to offend you. The irony is that in the end I am actually not thinking about you, I am thinking about me. As I peel back my fears, I've found that in my heart of hearts I long for something more - a life centered around God. Life with God is not boring, mundane or meaningless. It is full of abundance, provides the gift of joy in the midst of every circumstance, and brings hope in a world that is grasping for it in all the wrong places.

So here I am - finding my voice and my words.

I will be courageous to speak them out in the moments and places that He gives them to me. I will write them down so they can go forth. I will not squander what He places in my hands. I will fear God more than I fear man.

For the first time in my life those words are not just a hope and a longing - they are coming true.